


OM NAMAH SHIVAYA

by whateverliesunsaid



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Miracles, praying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whateverliesunsaid/pseuds/whateverliesunsaid
Summary: Kala decides it's about time Wolfgang learns how to reach something grander than his cluster and teaches Wolfgang how to pray. She never tells him whom to pray to and he prays for the only divinity he trusts won't give up on him: her.





	OM NAMAH SHIVAYA

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owedbetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owedbetter/gifts).



 

O little infinity! we give it back.   
But Love, this love has not ended:   
  
just as it never had a birth, it has   
no death: it is like a long river,   
only changing lands, and changing lips.

— Pablo Neruda.  

 

 

 

The raindrops falling down on the glass roof of the temple drown out the sound of her footsteps. Her hands craddle a small gift, an offering crafted with mementos of Mumbai she mustered in Paris. Pieces of the puzzle she called normalcy, a puzzle she simply didn't feel able to put together these days.

 

The incense mist rose in waves around the big depiction of the deity she now knelt at the feet of. Ganesh’s pink skin, trunk and feet. His colors, his tusk. The array of signs seared onto him, all meaningless unless their true story is known — when their true colors show. Only then, they matter. Much like the one thing in Kala’s mind. To love him, you must know him first.

 

She pushed her arrangement closer to the idol and leaned back. Settling hands on her lap for a moment before they started wringing themselves again.

 

It's been a while, she wants to say first but doesn't. And it isn't a complete lie, as she has hardly ever gone to the temple since the incident. Or since London. In fact, Kala has opposed her own heart and ran away from divine judgement — she can hardly handle her own, as is.

 

“Gods don't give a shit about us,” Kala hears his voice from behind herself and turns around in a rush. Only to find the sight of her own self from a distance. Old, incredulous eyes set on him, in shock. Mumbai’s familiar heat rises from the ground; and him.

 

Wearing her naivety in her sleeve. Deep rubor growing in her cheeks as the memory of his previous state of undress overcame her again, she proclaimed: “At least you're dressed”. His blonde hair looks akin to white under the sunshine that slips through the stained glass on the roof. She can't see his face in this memory and the empty void it creates pulses. She came to this temple to beg, it reminds her, beg to see him again. But not like this — this old echo of them, of  simpler times. Unsatisfactory in it's lack of depth.

 

She draws in a deep breath. The temple's silence is sterile and in her quest for familiarity, she feels like she's never been so far from home. Or tired. Tired to the bones, she can barely keep herself together most of the time. A shell of what she used to be, this woman dwells in preoccupation. Thus, at the closest link to home she managed to find after such a long radio silence, she allows herself to weep. Shoulders fall forward, quivering like a leaf in the wind. Thrown around by circumstances she was not prepared for at all. Searching, searching, searching. Tattering in the dark, hoping to flick the lights on and find her life as it was before. Or better yet, completely different.

 

Still, there was no hope. If a person stood out in the rain praying for the rain to stop would likely achieve more than she could in this state. Tethered to a cluster, to seven other voices, souls and lives — which she desperately needed. She couldn’t risk them throwing herself into a BPO facility even if it meant she could find him. Even if she would do it without a thought had it not been for all those other hearts. Even Kala wasn't that reckless. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she looked up at the deity and explained: “I wish he was here,”. That’s her truth, and now it's out.

 

“Wolfgang, as you probably know, was… Taken.” fist drags tears away. This being the first honest conversation about these events she’s had outside of her cluster. Perhaps, the first proper conversation at all. “This…” cow “woman sold him out to BPO and now they have him. I had to run away. Couldn’t explain anything to Rajan or my father or anyone. I left as Rajan planned and now i’m… gone. I don’t know if I can ever see my family again or if i’ll ever see him again either— he can be dead for all we know… And what hurts the most is that I could, I should, be grieving all of those things right now...” this pregnant pause sets the whole universe still. Eyes faulting, voice lowering down to near a whisper: “but he’s all I can think about.”

 

Guilt was never something she let go of very often or very easily. She kept those burdens close to her chest, tight and trapped so she wouldn’t ever forget just how tainted she could become if she allowed it to fester. Wicked girl under the guise of an angel. Kala stopped, swallowing all the words left unsaid. As well as the letters she never got to write, texts she never sent and all the deserved goodbyes she never waved.

 

“We think we know where they’re hiding him but Nomi isn’t sure. Will wants to negotiate, Sun wants to break him out. There’s always so much… noise in my head. I just want him back... to shut it all away.” It’s the first time she’s wanted him close in which the proximity itself wouldn’t mean any harm to the both of them. Instead, it represented the very opposite and some part of her thought of it as growth.

 

The smell of incense, peanuts and burned candle mixing together in a scent that felt like nothing but a cop out. This is not what I want. I want to leave.

 

A metallic hustle in the back of her consciousness started to ring, a warning, a miracle. Tuned so perfectly to his symphony she was already expecting this development for a while. For them to make a mistake and let her know — or for them to entice her in and catch them all. High risk and high reward was the rule of the game and there was no other way to play it if not the hard way. In a second, before she could process it, he was there. A mirror of her position, right in front of her. Eyes upturned to the stained glass image of a god he doesn’t trust — and, entirely aware of her presence there. Awoken by her voice.

  
  


“Oh, Wolfgang” she cried, hands rising to his face as if to be fully secure he’s really there. Knees crawled forward until she’s got her lips on his mouth, his cheeks, his temple. Her hands bring their foreheads together until they touched. He all but whimpers, his tired body falling into her until she enveloped him in her touch, her warmth. His back pressing to her chest, her arms cradling his frame softly. “I thought you were dead,” she breathes out, relieved.

 

“Not yet,” He mutters and she notices feels so cold. Kala knows exactly why his body slumps forward like that, trying to swallow her warmth entirely. As not to let her visit him on the other side, trying so hard not to signal that she’s there so they can just cut him away again. To make this moment linger for as much as it can. “This isn't Mumbai.” he conjectures, not asking a thing. Not daring to know too much, aware of his new status as the weakest link. Unable to protect, he settles for not putting her in danger. No matter how terribly uncomfortable this position is.

 

“I’m safe. We’re all safe. We’re trying to get you. We’re so close…” she reassures him, planting a kiss on his temple before she holds him tighter still. His head falling comfortably into the slope of her neck and shoulders, the final piece and it's puzzle.

 

“I know.” he murmurs, allowing himself this small mercy of basking in her presence. His voice nearly gone, nothing but a low grumble now. He closes his eyes but inside, the wheels are turning and he can already see the plan laid out ahead of him. This is nothing but bait. He is bait. “That’s why they allowed this. They want you to make a mistake.”

 

She turns his words around in her head, the bitter taste of anger growing stronger. God, they’re going to have to sit down for this, then. Despite the fear, the paranoia, and the constant danger, something inside her told her this was not going to be it for them. It simply couldn’t be. For reasons she couldn’t bring herself to explain to Rajan when she decided to fade into thin air. It was bigger than those mundane perils, she knew. Greater than words. Their bond was the stuff miracles were built on.

 

“I was praying for you,” she admits, almost as if there was nothing else she could possibly do. Leaning her mouth into the top of his head, kissing his crown of hair.

 

“So I could get out?” he asks meekly, his tone vaguely suggesting he could find humour in this. Some bitter, twisted hope, perhaps.

 

“So I could see you again.” Kala refuted, softly. Suddenly aware of this holy ground they stood on. Eyes set on the statue of Ganesha who, in turn, kept his gaze straight ahead, smiling. Almighty. “And here you are.”

 

A snort and he whispers out, “Thank god for miracles.” A moment passes. Kala being too enraptured in the moment to retort to him until Wolfgang dares to speak again: “How do you do it?”, he asks, snapping Kala out of her reverie.

 

“What?”, she pouts, eyebrows growing closer together. “Pray?” She finds herself sitting straighter, looking down at him.

 

“Yes.” he presses further, a smile growing at the edge of his lips at her surprise. He leans backwards and away from her, only enough so he can look at her confused gaze looking down at him. Light bearing down behind her curls in the most heavenly pattern.

 

“Didn’t anybody in your family ever show you?”

 

“The Bogdanows aren’t very religious.” he shrugged. It was meaningless, then. With all that dying, all those funerals… Wolfgang never really made it to mass. Though he did once open a bible… To hide his face during a pursuit — it worked like a charm, then.  He raises his hand to drag his fingers along her face, a touch she leans into almost instantly. Her hand cupping his hand, fingers intertwined in caress. “But if every time you pray I show up… maybe there’s a link.” Maybe I should trust.

 

She sniffs, mind racing at the thought of it. “First, you choose to whom you want to pray. Can’t just pray for nothing and hope to get what you want. You have to choose a name.”

 

“Already have.” the words escape him before he thinks them through. Too enraptured in the sight of her; the first time in weeks he’s felt something close to familiarity — if not safety.

 

“Good.” she says and sinks her teeth down onto her lower lip. The reassurance feeling more personal than properly meant for him. His quick answer surprising her. A fleeting shock breaking through the calm before she opens her mouth again. Eyes losing focus when she finds herself looking into herself for guidance. “The rest of it is… conversation. Except they don’t really answer. Not like you expect them to, anyway. So you just talk. You thank them, you explain, you beg. Praying is like talking to someone you can’t see but you know they’re listening. Like talking on the phone to someone you never met but who has the power to turn your life upside down if you let them. So you just ask for what you want and hope for the best. We can… pray together now so I can teach you how to do it. Is that a good idea?”

 

“Sure.” he closes his eyes. Fingers still wrung into hers in a combination so thorough he’s not entirely sure where she ends and he begins. A cycle of energy rushing through their veins as one. This connection who wasn't anything if not miraculous growing stronger.

 

Her eyes turn upwards to her devoted god. Tears streaming down her cheeks and a proud smile in her lips. Something that resembled peace so closely he would have envied it had it not been for the fact that they shared it. And it was overwhelming at its weakest. Her mouth moved silently over words for a minute, her eyes closed, chin on the nook of his shoulders and neck. “Now we meditate.”

 

His eyes, still shut, felt nearly open. Racing thoughts confusing themselves with awareness and fogged up memories. Memories he could not stop from invading his mind along with so many intrusive thoughts, most of which were anything but new. “Shhhhh,” Kala coos, pressing his head back down to her chest. “Listen to the sound of my heartbeat.” She instructs, and so he did. He found her heart beat so close, inside  _ his _ chest. Her breath spacing out to an even cadence.

The whole world melted away. There was nothing sweeter or grander than the sound of Kala Dandekar’s heartbeats. He feared for her for so long and now he felt what she felt —  _ we have more time _ . Somehow, he found himself dreaming of Paris. Little did he know, so did she. A grand design of peace, love, and possibility. He could make up the sights of it so clearly. So tangibly, so close it was almost as though he could  _ hear _ the sounds of the hustle and bustle of the street, the street market's song and dance growing louder, making them shout at each other about the strawberries, and turning silent at the most inappropriate moments. Her laughter, the smell of coffee and  _ the home _ . Their home. The one he would sometimes try very hard not to give himself hope about ever setting foot in. He could see them, with their first key, fumbling around trying to twist the lock for the first time together for good luck. She would always say that about anything she wanted to do:  _ For good luck! _

And he would make i love you his catchphrase, too. And Paris would be sweet. Paris would be good.

By the time he felt those urgent hands on his arms. The faint bite of the injection pulling him away from the dream, it was too late. He'd already forgotten to say the most important words— out loud, at least.

 

The column of sunlight fell over the lonely body of Kala Dandekar. Outstretched as it was, anyone would think she was be cradling something as heavy and tenuous as a heart. As the world itself.

 

Indeed, she was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jo, for the wonderful prompt. And here's for however long it will take me to get to the next and final installment of this.


End file.
